He is searching for Phyllis Poynton, and he is coming
here. I believe that he will find her."
The windows were wide open, and both men suddenly turned round. There
was no mistaking the sound which came to them from the road outside--the
regular throb and beat of a perfectly balanced engine. Then they heard a
man's voice, cool and precise.
"Here you are, then, and a sovereign for yourself. A capital little car
this. Good night!"
The little iron gate opened and closed. A tall man in a loose
travelling-coat, and carrying a small bag, entered. He saw Duncombe
standing at the open window, and waved his hand. As he approached his
boyish face lit up into a smile.
"What luck to find you up!" he exclaimed. "You got my telegram?"
"An hour ago," Duncombe answered. "This is my friend, Mr. Andrew Pelham.
What will you have?"
"Whisky and soda, and a biscuit, please," was the prompt reply. "Haven't
upset you, I hope, coming down from the clouds in this fashion?"
"Not in the least," Duncombe answered. "You've made us very curious,
though."
"Dear me!" Spencer exclaimed, "what a pity! I came here to ask
questions, not to answer them.
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